Nothing World
by crystal-chan
Summary: Demyx tries, but these days its hard to stop acting and just feel. He used to know how, but that time is something he can't quite remember,and isn't sure ever really existed to begin with. Zemyx. Reincarnation. ONESHOT. Fluff.


MWAHAHAHA! This oneshot has been about a year in the making, because I'd start on it, write about a thousand words, decide I didn't like it, start over etc. etc. BUT NOT THIS TIME! HA! after a very loOoooong time trying to get this thing right, I believe I finally have it where I want it. It's a little sappy and meant to make your mouth hurt with sweetness, but whatever. :D I'm such a Zemyx fan.....

PLEASE review. It's what keeps me going when I have to completely rewrite a stubborn chapter, you know. Or a stubborn oneshot... *glares at this peice*

Don't own don't sue!

* * *

It was midday in the bustling city of Radiant Garden when it all began. The scene itself was nothing out of the ordinary—perhaps a little more crowded than usual. But _certainly_ no one noticed the blond kid moving through the mob of people and hopping on the subway escalator. No one ever noticed him. Despite his loud clothing and spontaneous dance moves, he just wasn't worth a second glance. Demyx was used to it. It had driven him crazy at first, but after a while, he decided it wasn't all that bad. What did it matter if his parents never had the time of day? Why should he care if he had no friends, or enemies for that matter. He was a nothing kid in a nothing world, and he knew it.

The city seemed silent despite the usual mundane roar. Street performers, crying children, and milling crowds all seemed to fuse together into one giant blur of sound. Take all that noise, and what do you get? A whole lot of nothing, that's what. Ugly, blaring, absolute stillness. Even with his headphones on, Demyx could still hear the silence. He _hated_ it. This maddening, metal jungle with its perpetual void made him feel even more like he didn't exist.

The blond frowned and turned his headphones up a little louder. He didn't know why, but for some reason feeling so lonely didn't hurt; it scared him. He was absolutely terrified that his life had been nothing more than a twisted dream, a fleeting whimsy in some lunatic's mind. The only thing that felt _real_ to him these days was music. It was the only thing that had ever really acknowledged him. It almost seemed to speak to him, calling out to his very soul and making his emotions palpable. Was it strange that he needed so badly to _feel_? Most people didn't have a problem with experiencing emotions, he knew. Why was it that whenever music made him cry, or feel like soaring in the wind, it was such a relief?

He ignored the brightly painted yellow line on the subway platform and stepped a little further from the crowd. The train was running late, and the number of people around definitely reflected that. The huge concrete underground was packed wall to wall with human bodies. The "danger" zone was the only place where there was enough room to breathe. That was the practical reason for standing on the yellow, anyway. He was actually hoping, just a little bit, that someone would say something and protest his standing so close to the edge. But no one did. No one ever did. Why should they care about some nameless punk in the subway? Radiant Garden was a big city. Fools died every day. He was just another accident waiting to happen in their eyes—another run-of-the-mill nonconformist.

The train arrived with a rush of screaming wheels and booming wind, blowing Demyx's hair wildly about him and making him feel dizzy. That noise—that bone-jarring, screeching noise was the first thing to break through the silence all day. Demyx loved taking the metro. Not because of the people. The huge crowds of nameless faces only made him feel more alone. He loved the subway because in those dark tunnels, resounding and echoing in a high speed rush, everything was pure _sound._ The trains and tunnels had a rhythm and a harsh musicality to them that the rest of the city lacked. He could just close his eyes and feel like he was a part of something for once.

The doors opened accompanied by their usual disembodied voice. Demyx shifted impatiently from foot to foot and waited for the first few people to get off before pushing his way in to the car. Most of the time he would be a bit more considerate about letting people out, but there was a huge crowd of people behind him and he didn't feel like taking the next train. The music fanatic jostled and elbowed through the throng until he made it to the middle of the car. It was already standing room only, but at least he could breathe.

He didn't really notice the teen next to him until the train started and a pale hand reached out to hold onto him for balance. Demyx didn't mind the contact so much as he was suspicious of it. He'd seen pickpockets work their magic on this rout many times before. He was just about to say something when he looked at the stranger for the first time. Steely sapphire peered embarrassedly back at him. Demyx felt his breath freeze in his chest.

"Sorry," the quiet teen mumbled before going back to his book. Demyx didn't know quite what hit him, but whatever it was, he didn't stop staring until the train reached its next stop. The lavender-haired stranger didn't seem to mind his prolonged gaze, although Demyx swore those pale cheeks were slowly coloring.

Whatever stupor was holding him finally let go as the train pulled to a stop, the beautiful teen putting his book down to push his way out of the doors and out of Demyx's life—possibly forever. The rest of the subway ride passed like a hazy dream. He was too distracted to even focus on the sound of the subway, still dazed when he arrived at the station near his neighborhood. It wasn't until he had already dropped his jacket on his bedroom floor that he finally began to snap out of it, but he couldn't be sure he was still sane.

Even with the headphones off, all he could hear was music.

* * *

Zexion had never been very involved in his own life. Bad things happened, good things happened—none of it affected him much. He hadn't cried when his parents got divorced, didn't really care when they moved away from his old hometown to the bustling city of Radiant Garden. It wasn't like he had any friends at his old school, so what did it matter? Likewise, he didn't much care when he won academic competitions or went on vacation. He had no favorite foods in particular, no favorite restaurants or store brands. Those things were just necessities. Why should he like one more than the rest?

His mother, whom he'd ended up living with after the split, had tried to get him to go to a shrink. It hadn't worked. The man wasn't very intelligent and only wound up annoying Zexion with his patronizing attitude. The first session had ended with the psychologist near tears and Zexion still completely emotionless. His mother had taken the scene in, sighed, and brought him home. She hadn't tried that again. Instead she tried her own methods, which were almost as annoying as the shrink's. Every Friday she would bring home some new dish from the various restaurants around town, trying to find something that he liked more than the rest. She would cut out pictures of actors and models from magazines and point out their styles, trying to get him to pick the one he liked. Zexion tried to placate her every once in a while, but he really didn't care one way or another. Perhaps he should have told her to stop trying, but for some reason he didn't want to hurt her like that. He didn't think he particularly liked his mother, but then, he hadn't crushed her like the shrink, so perhaps he did. Zexion didn't care enough to think about it much. In fact, he found it hard to care when it came to just about all things… except for one.

Books—they were the one thing that could actually make him feel anything at all. They were like a drug. It was only through them that he knew what happiness should feel like; what love and sorrow and betrayal should feel like. For some reason, the characters and places and different worlds of books were more real to him than his own life. And he knew that, logically, there was something very wrong with that, but for once he decided that, at least in this instance, logic could be disregarded. Books were the only friends he had—the only friends that never changed because he knew exactly the way they played out. A book would never betray him or somehow rewrite itself. It couldn't. Books were worth caring about, and they were the only thing that made him feel like he existed. The empathy he felt for the characters, the understanding of emotion he felt, even though he'd never had those emotions himself, was the only thing that made him feel alive.

So what else would he be doing on a weekend than sitting in his usual coffee shop reading a book? He didn't particularly like this place more than the rest, but it was quiet and fairly close to his apartment. He could order a coffee here, hide in the corner with his newest book, and no one would bother him for the rest of the day. Usually he didn't bother to order any kind of food but he hadn't had breakfast today and his stomach was beginning to protest. Zexion selected something random from the list, Tiramisu, and took his order back to his seat. He had just opened his book to begin the first page when he heard it—the most hauntingly familiar laugh. It was like an echo out of a dream; it drug some kind of half-remembered feeling to him and Zexion felt his heart skip a beat. This was just like that time…

Slowly, with wide eyes, he turned and looked toward the kitchens. Sure enough, the blond from the subway was standing in the doorway. Zexion felt his cheeks heat up with remembered embarrassment. That guy had been staring at him last time, and Zexion didn't really know how he should feel about it. Hell, he shouldn't have been feeling _at all_! It just wasn't something he did.

The blond seemed to have finished whatever conversation he'd been having with the red-head in the back and began to walk his way. Zexion pulled his book closer to his face and pretended to be reading. Meeting that stranger again was nothing more than a coincidence, getting all excited wouldn't solve anything and was completely illogical. Why should he care about some guy he'd seen one time? He shouldn't. He didn't.

Zexion almost thought the teen would walk right past him and part of him felt hurt at the idea, even if the rest of him was convincingly indifferent. But his blond stranger seemed inclined to prove him wrong. The rhythmic footsteps stopped short right next to his table. Zexion re-read the same sentence three times in an attempt to ignore his visitor before slowly shifting his gaze up. The most brilliant shade of blue stared back at him. Zexion endured the attention for a few moments before he decided he didn't feel like dealing with it. He forced himself to ignore the irregular pulsing in his veins and the unnatural heat of his face as he lowered his book and laid it on the table.

"Can I help you?" Zexion asked, his voice impassive as usual. Later he might admit to the way his heart fluttered strangely in his chest, but for now he chose to ignore the signals his body tried to send him. He failed to see why he should be responding this way to a mere prolongation of eye contact. It was completely irrational. The person before him blinked before breaking out into the most gorgeous grin, reaching back to play with his hair in a nervous gesture.

"Heh, sorry! It was just that you looked familiar for some reason." Neither of them mentioned the incident on the subway, although Zexion was fairly certain they both remembered it. The blond seemed to debate something before plopping down in the chair across from his, no questions asked. Zexion opened his mouth to protest, and felt his voice freeze in his throat. He frowned. A distant fragment of something—a flicker-flash of smiles and words and music floated incomprehensible on the edge of memory and stopped him from turning the imposing teen away. He drowned his confusion in indifference and picked his book back up again. Maybe this guy would get the hint.

"So, you come here often?" Apparently not. Zexion should have ignored it. He should have been able to read the goddamn sentence he'd been trying to read for the last few minutes, take a silent sip of coffee, and brush this guy off like he would have anyone else. Instead, he opened his mouth to reply.

"Yes. Almost every weekend." The person in front of him grinned, and Zexion's eyes went wide. Seeing that un-restrained smile turned something deep within him and made it hard to breathe. He forced his face back to its impassive state and tried not to think about it too much.

"Awesome! Listen, I'm playing here next Saturday night at around seven. You should totally come!" Nameless or not, the blond smiling like sunshine in front of him was affecting him in ways that no one ever had, and that was nothing more than frightening. He opened his mouth to say no. This person was causing him to act unreasonably. In no way did Zexion need to further involve himself with the blonde's company. But just when he was about to decline, unintelligible impressions of gold and forced laughter and the setting sun shot through him like an electric shock.

"Sounds pleasant. I'm sure I'll be there." He said the words without ever thinking them and with no idea where they'd come from. His addresser smiled even wider, if that was possible, before snatching the fork and taking a bite of the untouched desert.

"Oh, wow! That's really great stuff." Zexion hadn't recovered from his mouth's betrayal by the time his food was being sampled. He actually thought _Ah, that's just like him_ before performing a mental double-take. The lavender-haired teen counted to ten and fought to regain himself. What was going _on_? "Well, I gotta go, but I'm going to see you next week, yeah?" Zexion nodded curtly as he watched his new acquaintance stand, still preoccupied with sorting himself out. The blond smiled at him one last time, and walked toward the door. Some strange part of him ached to watch the blond walk away—the same part that had been jolting him with incoherent impressions of dreams. The object of his confusion reached the exit with just a few strides. Zexion felt the inexplicable itch to stand up and go after him, but staunchly smothered it. He watched with rapt attention as the stranger pressed one hand to the door….

And turned promptly around. He stormed back to the table with a confused expression that seemed to mirror Zexion's current state of mind.

"I forgot to ask what your name was!" He half-laughed, half spoke as he rubbed the back of his neck again in that same nervous pose. There was an uneasiness to the actions that made them seem rehearsed—like the too perfect motions of a well-blocked play.

"Zexion," he said, trying to draw in as much of this person as possible. He wanted to know why he felt so odd. He wanted to make it stop. "And you?"

"I'm Demyx!" The blond, Demyx, revealed before grinning and turning to leave. Though the smile was genuine, something odd seemed to glitter in deep blue eyes. The rhythmic motion of his walk was simply too perfect to be anything other than fake. Zexion shook his head and told himself he was just imagining it. Just because he was an emotionless shell of a person didn't mean everyone else was. This… Demyx was probably nothing more than a pretty face and a vapid smile. There was no reason to get worked up about it. No reason to feel obligated to come to that stupid concert next week.

His eyes fell to the fork that Demyx had stolen just a short while ago, and the Tiramisu sitting lonely on his plate. He dispassionately picked up the utensil and watched it slide effortlessly through the dessert. It didn't matter that someone else had eaten from it a few moments ago. This was nothing more than sustenance, just as it had always been. Zexion lifted the fork to his mouth, content to have found his happily apathetic normality once more. He would eat because he was hungry, which was the only logical reason for ever eating. And as always, it would taste—

The fork clattered to the table as Zexion sat frozen and wide-eyed.

It tasted _good_.

* * *

If Demyx were honest with himself, he didn't really like performing. He loved music, but when he picked up his instrument he felt more like he was going into battle than anything else. He hated that. Some part of him remembered what it had been like to create music simply for music's sake. Once upon a time, he supposed, he'd known what it was to give life to new sound, to hear it and _feel_ it and know it as his own. But that was a time he couldn't quite remember. He would have given anything to feel like that as he played, not like he was forcing himself through the motions, going out to subdue some unnamed enemy.

So Demyx masochistically forced himself to perform in the hopes that one day he'd find that ability to create again. But lately it had been different. Ever since that crazy day on the subway, he'd actually felt… inspired. Like some part of himself had been unlocked and let free. He was hearing music everywhere these days—in the streets, in crowds, _everywhere_. He hadn't thought all that noise had meant anything before, hadn't been able to find a melody or a rhythm in anything other than the subway, but now all those noisy voices were combining to make a single song instead of silence. And he couldn't help but feel that it was all because of that guy.

Demyx found himself feeling nervous as he thought of the lavender-haired teen. He didn't know what he'd been thinking when he'd seen Zexion at the café the other day. Demyx didn't really have a habit of thinking before he acted. Why should he? It wasn't like he had anyone to practice on. His mother and father were always too busy with the law firm and the hospital respectively to deal with him much, and it wasn't like he had any friends. But even Demyx knew it wasn't normal to eat someone else's food… God, what must the guy think? He wouldn't be surprised if Zexion had been weirded out and decided not to come to the show tonight. But he really couldn't have helped himself. When he'd sat down at that table, with the quiet teen across from him he'd just felt—it was like he was finally _home_.

"Nervous?" Demyx's thoughts were interrupted by the friendly manager he'd spoken to yesterday. The red-head was staring at him with a grin that would probably have seemed friendly on anyone else. On Axel, it just looked feral.

"Nah." He answered, wiping the evidence of worry from his face with a bright smile he didn't really feel. He didn't have the emotional capacity to be nervous. He was, however, actually kind of apprehensive over whether or not that guy would show up. If Zexion didn't come, he didn't know what he would do.

"Damn. Not nervous at all? Even though you start playing in a few minutes? With a huge crowd?" Demyx laughed mechanically. He wouldn't exactly call the ten people currently in the coffee shop a huge crowd.

"Not at all." He answered as he did a final check of his equipment. A couple cords of the electric guitar and some humming into the microphone revealed that it was all in working order.

"Too bad. I was looking forward to teasing you mercilessly." Axel sighed. Demyx just shook his head at the manager's antics.

"Axel!" The shout came from across the room. Demyx could just barely make out the figure of the blond who usually worked at the front counter in the dimly-lit café. He saw something like real happiness flicker across Axel's face for a moment, but then it was gone. He half-wondered if he'd imagined it.

"Well that's my cue. Don't mess up!" The red-head called, his voice teasing but something about him suspiciously cold. Odd. Axel was the first person he could even tentatively call a friend, but the pyro seemed to be just as emotionally stunted as Demyx himself was. Zexion didn't seem to be too much better off in the feelings department. He didn't even _act_ like he had emotions. The musician half-wondered if the only people interested in talking to him were the mentally screwed up ones. Birds of a feather, he supposed.

Speaking of the lavender-haired teen… Demyx scanned the small crowd but didn't see anyone resembling his odd obsession. He looked at his watch and frowned a true frown. It was a little past seven already. No time left to stall and fool himself. Well. He should have known better than to get his hopes up. Why should a stranger care about his concert? Especially after Demyx had succeeded in proving just how abnormal he was.

He put his perfect, smiling mask back on before he stepped up to the microphone to play. Performing became a chore once more instead of the joyful, rapturous activity he'd been hoping for. That guy was the only reason he was even doing this, and now that he wasn't here… what was the point? What was the point in anything? His fingers hit the notes flawlessly, the equipment worked well, his voice sounded perfect, but it was all mechanical. He couldn't feel it; couldn't simply live through music like he had before—like he had been ever since that day on the subway. The thrumming rhythm of the air and the earth beneath his feet was just gone. His outlet was ruined, and the only emotion he could truly feel was the echo of a horrible sadness, a deep requiem the likes of which he only had the hazy recollection of ever feeling before.

Demyx ignored it and played as he always did, perversely elated that he was able to feel sorrow even if it was unwarranted. So odd. He couldn't feel emotion when it really mattered, but one stranger he'd only seen twice could bring out the sharpest of feelings. He almost faltered in his playing as he realized that it hurt. It really _hurt_ and he wasn't sure what that meant. He felt like he was drowning in that nothingness again—back to the nameless fool of a child he'd been before he stepped on the subway that day. What influence did this stranger have over him? Zexion seemed to be able to give him an identity, to make him real and then just as easily, so simply, to take it away. He could feel the fear bubbling up inside again. He didn't want to be a nobody! He didn't want—

The quiet ring of the door opening brought him back to earth and reached out to him in the middle of his third song. Demyx looked tentatively, hopefully toward the door only to find the object of his thoughts staring back. It looked like the teen had run here; he was half bent over and gasping for air. The guitarist felt his lips quirk in the barest imitation of a smile as he sang. Someone in the room coughed, a coffee-cup clinked against the table and silverware jingled. Demyx heard it, and it sounded like a dream. It was music again.

Part of him felt frightened that someone he didn't really know had so much power over him. The majority of him told that part to shut up, because this was _Zexion_. So what if that shouldn't mean anything at all to him? For some reason, it meant everything, and he didn't think he wanted it to stop any time soon. Relief flooded his body like a drug, and holy crap he _felt_ that. His heart pounding in his chest, he stared at Zexion as though the almost-stranger were his lifeline. Patrons all over the café began to sit straight in their seats, turning towards him from their whispered conversations and half-hidden books to really listen because it wasn't just perfection any more—it was _emotion_. Demyx didn't notice them at all.

It wasn't until he finished the last song and heard the thunderous applause that he realized there was anyone else in the room besides that one person. Apparently his playing had managed to draw in people off the street. Axel was beaming at him as he took the microphone to say a few words, a greedy Cheshire grin. He felt a little proud of himself for getting the red-head some more customers before he realized he was actually _proud_ of something. And the whole reason for that was—

Currently walking out the door. Demyx blanched before setting down his guitar and dashing through the now moderate crowd and in to the night air. He didn't know what he thought he was doing but he had to do _something_ because there was no way he was just going to go back to regular life after this. Not after he'd gotten so close to being… God he didn't even know what but he wasn't going to let it slip away!

"Zexion wait!" The teen stopped, but didn't turn around. Demyx could see the way his hands were clenched tight in the dark, shoulders tense. He only looked like that if he was fighting himself for something, and how the hell did he _know_ this crap, but he felt like he'd known Zexion for forever. "Please don't go." The words came out pitiful and half sobbed, even though he hadn't meant for them to. He didn't even know he was capable of sounding like that. The musician couldn't quite bring himself to care though, because the words seemed to force Zexion to at least face him. The teen looked genuinely worried, even if he was cursing himself for that worry.

The two stared at each other with the neon lights of the city flickering about them, and Demyx couldn't stop the mental onslaught of another city in the dark—flashing memories of places he'd never been but always that same emptiness and he _wasn't letting Zexion go!_

"Hey—I… look this is crazy but I just… It's like I already knew you!" The bookworm took another wary step toward him, brow furrowed with an emotion he couldn't quite place and wasn't sure he'd ever felt before himself. Zexion opened his mouth to say something but Demyx was afraid, shit he was _afraid_, of being told to get lost. "God, you probably think I'm nuts but you're the only thing that makes me feel like I actually exist, and I—"

"Shut up Demyx." The lavender-haired teen interrupted his nonsensical blubbering to close the distance between them until lips met. The kiss started off somewhat chaste and unexpected but quickly evolved into something desperate and passionate and needy. Demyx thought he might have been crying as he held on to Zexion for all he was worth, knowing this mouth and these lips and the feel of the torso pressed to his better than he knew his own name, but hell if he knew why. He decided he didn't quite care.

People passed them by and some eyed them with barely disguised disgust, but for the most part, they weren't worth a second glance. Radiant Garden was a rather large city. They were just two punk kids in a nothing world, didn't mean anything to anybody, probably never would.

Except to each other. And maybe that was all that really mattered.


End file.
